all my friends, children of Saturn
is a little "something for something"
ethic you don't always learn
from the family biz venue.
Somewhere on my horoscope
filled to rollicking and rolling
is the house of all my friends*, (see footnote)
children of Saturn, ringed fittings,
coldly set in goat breath vapors,
huffing down from faint stars.
Transients, most of them,
escapees from Chronos' menu,
bivouacked on the lawn of my life,
cackling, moose calling, laughing at
my crazy uncle as he goes about
in his robe and stocking-cap,
touching up his oil paintings
with grape jam and toothpaste.
My friends like to sit with uncle,
at his yellow table, spread
with cracked and muddy
paint pots and bizarre cards.
He paints a greeting for every day
and gives it to a visitor,
just for stopping in. I f you don't
speak to him he just hums,
or lights up a Kool, raising
a song on the blue smoke.
Children of Saturn always move on,
leaving their jewelry, their clothes,
anything that would identify them
as beach combing clam bakers, here,
just for the Amistad shore leave and
the hung over ride to glory land.
* I have a double wide 10th house in Sagittarius
shifting my 11th house of Friends to Capricorn,
ŠJimmy Warner Design, 2016